


Five Things Tom and Carl Did in College (In the First Semester Alone)

by Gray Shadows (the_afterlight)



Category: Young Wizards - Diane Duane
Genre: 5+1 Things, College, Crossover Setting, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 18:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_afterlight/pseuds/Gray%20Shadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His grandfather is laughing, sitting on Carl's new dorm room bed, while Carl tries to hide his Manual among the fantasy books on the shelf above his desk. When Carl asks, "What's so funny?" his grandfather just laughs harder.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Things Tom and Carl Did in College (In the First Semester Alone)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [winterseaspray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterseaspray/gifts).



### 1\. In Which Manuals are Hidden (Because Wizardry is Secret, Right?)

Tom found his Manual at an estate sale when he was fourteen. He was wandering through looking for little things to inspire a story; he liked having a tangible object he could set on his desk beside the old typewriter he inherited from a great-aunt he'd never actually met, something to look at and occasionally reach out and touch as he made up its history. The manual itself showed up when he was looking at a little glass figurine of a tap-dancing crocodile, one hand broken off and glued, inexpertly, back into place. He'd been walking along considering what kind of story the crocodile could have, how it might have lost the hand and who might have glued it back on, when he tripped -- literally -- over a box of old books. Right in the middle was a small volume, maybe four inches by six, bound in red leather and stamped, in gold leaf, with an odd curly symbol he couldn't place but which caught his eye and held it. The man running the sale took one look at Tom, another at the book, and waved him off without making him pay. That night, curled up with a steaming mug of hot chocolate, he opened the book to the wizard's oath and began to understand why.

Four years later, when Tom is settling into his new dorm room at Blackstock, he puts the book on his shelf alongside a couple of other old books he owns, one an early 20th century Oxford UP printing of the complete works of Shakespeare, bound almost identically in red leather and about the same size, and the other a hardback edition of The Faerie Queene, a gift last Christmas from his grandmother. He hopes that Carl won't notice anything odd about it if it's beside the other old books.

Carl, meanwhile, is too busy trying to hide his _own_ Manual. Tom wouldn't recognise it, though, not without being told what it is. Presently, Carl's manual still has the same deceptively small shape it had when he was given it, at age eleven. His grandfather, Lysander, always had a kind word and a small treat for Carl. That particular day, three days after Carl's eleventh birthday, the treat was a little different: a shiny new paperback book, maybe a hundred-fifty pages thick, the words "Wizardry: An Instruction Manual" in bright orange text on a gray background, above a standard fantasy-novel picture of a dragon and a man holding a wand. It was only on closer inspection that Carl realised the man with the wand was actually a boy, maybe two or three years older than himself, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt instead of the typical robes. The next day, twelve hours after reading the Oath, Carl found his grandparents and their friends in the directory at the back of his bigger-on-the-inside book.

His grandfather is laughing, sitting on Carl's new dorm room bed, while Carl tries to hide his Manual among the fantasy books on the shelf above his desk. When Carl asks, "What's so funny?" his grandfather just laughs harder.

* * *

### 2\. In Which Camaraderie Begins to Form (And Carl Maybe Starts to Have a Little Crush)

“You know,” Tom said idly, eying his bed – empty, except for a small pile of bedclothes waiting for him to make it up – and then Carl’s. “I think these were bunkbeds.”

Carl gave Tom a look he expected would be happening with some frequency over the semester, if their first few hours together were any indication. “Bunkbeds,” he said flatly. “Really?”

Tom nodded enthusiastically, poking his head into the closet on his half of the room. “Really!” he replied, followed by a triumphant, “Aha!” as he came back out of the closet with lofting poles. “And, hey, think about all the extra room we’d have if we bunked them again. Hey, take a look at the top of your bedposts, see if it’s a bottom bunk?”

“Are you _twelve_?” Carl shot back, staying stubbornly in his desk chair. “I am not bunking my bed!”

“Not even for the top bunk?” Tom grinned at Carl and flopped down onto his stomach in a move that made Carl wince – that _had_ to hurt. Although the way Tom's shirt was riding up let peek just a little strip of skin that made Carl's heart skip a beat, a reaction he did his best to cover. “Yeah, this one’s a top bunk,” he told Carl, voice muffled from the fact that his head was currently under his bed. “We’ll want to clean it, though, it’s disgusting under here.”

Carl groaned. “Oh, for crying out- fine, _fine_ , give me a second.” Crouching over his bed, he examined the posts. “… I think they just slot together,” he explained. “I don’t think we’ll need any bolts or anything.”

“Great!” Tom beamed at Carl, who didn’t have the heart to deny him this again, not if he was _this_ happy about it. He held two of the lofting poles out to Carl. “We can get these on, and then you can help me lift this one up.”

Even with the mattress, the bed was surprisingly light, so it only took a moment for the two young men to move Tom’s bed across the room and settle it into place on the poles. “Just so you know,” Carl told Tom, “if this crashes down on me in the night and kills me, you’re paying my medical bills.”

Tom laughed. “It’ll be fine,” he insisted. “I promise. You’re sure you don’t want the top bunk, though?”

“Nah, whatever. I don’t like sleeping that high up anyway.” Carl flopped down onto his bed, carefully avoiding the miscellaneous piles of things he still needed to sort through. "I hope we don't get in trouble for this. I mean, maybe we're not supposed to?"

"I doubt they'd have left the poles in here if it was a problem," Tom pointed out. "But if we do get in trouble, I'll take the blame, okay? Say that I convinced you to do it."

Carl waved his hand vaguely. He wasn't about to lie just to stay out of trouble. "No, it's fine. I agreed. Like you said, they left the poles in here. And it _does_ give us a lot more floor space." He raised his head just enough to look over at the empty space on the opposite wall. "... Think we could get a couch in here?"

It takes Tom, Carl, Anita from the down the hall (she's studying architecture, and is better at spatial awareness than the rest of them combined -- without her, they'd never have managed to maneuver the couch up the stairs) and her roommate Julia's best friend Andrea's boyfriend Dave, from the rugby team, to get the couch into their room, but once it's installed, between it, Tom's stereo, Carl's grandmother's weekly care package of baked goods, and the floor's collected VHS tapes their room becomes the de facto floor lounge. 

Someone's got to eat the brownies. Carl would be five hundred pounds by Christmas if he did it on his own.

* * *

### 3\. In Which Carl Is Pissed Off (And Tom is Oblivious)

The thing that pisses Carl off the most is the Bach.

It's not even that he _dislikes_ Bach. It's not even the volume at which Tom insists on playing it. It's that he's playing it at three in the afternoon on a Friday when all Carl wants to do is grab a nap before meeting Anita and John for a burger before they head into town for this all-ages club show she'd been talking about all week.

He considers, briefly, a spell that will cut power to the stereo, discards it as a waste of energy, and rolls over. "Trying to sleep," he shouts over the music. "If you don't mind."

Tom turns to him from his desk chair -- from _Carl's_ desk chair, because he's using Carl's computer again -- and replies, "Oh, sorry!" Reaching across to his own desk, he turns down the stereo. "But you might want to head to the doctor -- it's not healthy to sleep this much."

Carl curls back up under his covers, but not without snaking a hand back out to send a rude gesture in Tom's direction. 

 

Except what really pisses him off is the way that Tom insists on walking to and from the shower wearing just a towel, because does he _have_ to feed Carl's crush like that?

 

What makes Carl really hate Tom is the fact that though he pretends to be 'cool' (whatever 'cool' is), he's the kind of guy who helps old women across the street and feeds the squirrels with bits of leftover white bread he smuggles out of the dining hall.

What Carl hates most of all is that Tom is hot.

Except for how Carl really doesn't hate Tom at all, and that's part of the problem.

* * *

### 4\. In Which the Authorities Are Called (And Tom Needs to Work on Secrecy)

It was inevitable that, living together as they do, Tom and Carl would eventually discover each other's wizardry. What is perhaps more surprising is that it took as long as it did.

What happened was this:

Two weeks into the term (after frosh week and the celebrations had ended, before the first person had been kicked out of the dorm for illicit possession of alcohol, and around the time that their resident advisor had first attempted to pull out her hair by sheer force of will because she was too busy holding someone else's hair back while that person vomited prolifically into a toilet in the third floor men's bathroom), Carl walked home from his 3:30 class -- Intro to History: Pre-History through the Fall of Rome -- to see strange lights sparking out of what he was fairly certain was his and Tom's room. This was, itself, nothing unusual. Tom was, Carl had come to discover, fond of strange and weird objects that probably weren't allowed in the dorm room, but about which their RA had proclaimed, "Well, you're not actually going to hurt anyone with them, so eh," while on her way to deal with another young froshie's emerging coke habit. 

(Carl wasn't entirely certain whether he wasn't into these things because wizard, or because _he was a sane and rational human being_. Which, he considered, might actually be because wizard.)

The odd thing about the strange lights sparking out of his and Tom's third-floor window was that Carl could hear them _singing_. Badly. In Esperanto.

Wondering what the fuck Tom had gotten into this time, Carl jogged up the stairs (the elevator, while it _worked_ , was considerably slower than Carl's walking pace, and he was in sufficient shape that jogging up two flights wasn't a hardship) and unlocked the door to their room. Tom was deep in conversation with an alien of some species that Carl didn't immediately recognise, roughly humanoid in that it had two arms, two legs, and a torso, but with a pattern of purple scales across red skin. " _-derstand, yes, but what I'm trying --_ hi, Carl _\-- what I'm trying to explain is that Earth is currently sevarfrith, at least this region is, so while your technological advances are certainly impressive, there's no way to begin selling them on the open market without going through the pre-existing import channels established with the Crossingsmaster._ " The alien started to respond, but Tom continued speaking right over him. " _They currently have the only existing contract with Earth's Senior. While I can get you contact information for him, he has stated very firmly that he believes the current arrangement is more than sufficient, and he won't listen to any other proposals unless they come through the Crossingsmaster's office._ "

There was a beat, just a moment, where Carl began to feel a slightly hysterical laugh begin to bubble up from his stomach, because of _course_ Tom was a wizard. Tom, for his part, realised exactly what he'd been caught doing -- holding a conversation with an alien -- about two seconds after he finished talking. "Uh. Carl. Hi. Sorry, I can totally explain."

Holding the laughter at bay -- barely -- Carl waved him off. " _Dai stihó, Cousin. How goes the errantry?_ Also, seriously, the window's singing in Esperanto, you might want to tweak your cover-up."

Tom blinked, covered his surprise as quickly as he could, and nodded. " _I'm trying to explain to K'kk'k''k'kklk'k exactly why xe can't set up a kiosk to sell Arctherian wand-blasters down on Main Street._ "

" _Arctherian? Uh, wait a second..._ " Carl pulled his manual off the shelf and flipped through it to -- aha, there it was. " _K'kk'k''k'kklk'k, under the authority of the Powers That Be, I place you under arrest for violation of the Ab'too'n Accords, article 3.alpha.22: Sale and Attempted Sale of Interdicted Weaponry. You are to remain at this present location until the appropriate authorities may be contacted for you transfer to and incarceration in such facilities as are applicable to your species and designation._ "

K'kk'k''k'kklk'k swirled for a moment before making a dash for the window, only to come up short against an invisible barrier. " _Huh_ ," Tom said, smiling softly. " _I knew that barrier would come in handy._ "

Three hours, a call to the local seniors, and a visit from the Crossings constabulary later, Tom and Carl were alone in their room, staring at each other.

"... Well." Tom grinned across the room at Carl, who rolled his eyes at his roommate. "This _does_ make things easier."

* * *

### 5\. In Which Tom and Carl Are Given an Invitation They Can't Refuse (And Have **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** )

Carl is in the habit, even on days he doesn't need to be up, of waking up at 7:30 and sitting on the narrow ledge that passes as a window sill in their room. Tom professes that he remains convinced Carl is using wizardry to stay on it; Carl insists it's just good balance and core strength. He stays on the sill until Tom wakes up at 8:15. This particular Saturday morning, a bright, clear Saturday in mid-October, the leaves are a hundred myriad colours just starting to fall; the air promises to warm up by noon but is still crisp and cool where it leaks in around their poorly-sealed window, is no different.

Which is a good thing, considering that sitting on their window sill is a square of parchment, folded and sealed with wax pressed with a sigil Carl _knows_ he should recognise. "Tom," he says, not quite reaching out for the parchment yet. "Tom, wake up."

Tom doesn't stir, of course. Tom waking up more than fifteen minutes before class would, Carl is convinced, be a sign of the impending apocalypse, or at least a sign that the Lone Power is up to something.

Again.

It would be nice if they could get through midterms without a crisis, actually, not that Carl's expecting they will.

The Lone Power's potential impending interference in their mid-term examinations aside, Carl has a parchment letter sitting on the window sill that needs addressing, and without knowledge of its specific crisis, he will be unable to awaken his roommate. Taking a deep breath -- and making sure that his usual defensive spells are ready in the back of his head -- he picks up the parchment and slips a nail under the wax, flicking it open.

>   
> _Dai stihó_ , Cousins,
> 
> It has come to the attention of Her Majesty Tanaquil, Queen of the Court of Flowers, Lady of the Western Lands, Guardian of the Fires of the Western Guard, that you have been working Wizardry upon Her Lands without Her Knowledge and Guidance. While your Works have been, to date, most Beneficial to the Continuation of Her Guardianship, it is Her Will that you make Her Acquaintance over Tea, this afternoon the 14th of October by the Mortal Calendar, when the Clock strikes Two, such that your Suitability for Service may be Assessed..
> 
> Present yourself at the Ivy Door of Masters Hall promptly at fifteen minutes before the Hour and you will be shown through to Her Court.
> 
> Her Faithful Servant,  
> The Amadaun

Carl stares at the letter for ten long seconds after reading it before uttering a heartfelt, "Shit." Settling himself with a deep breath, he turns back to Tom and says, in the Speech, " _Wake up. We've got work to do._ "

Even that doesn't wake up his roommate. Groaning, Carl glances around for a solution, only to notice Tom's half-full water glass beside his bed.

"I'M UP!" Tom shouts, moments later, water dripping down his face. "What's going on?" Carl tosses the letter on his chest; picking it up and reading it, Tom blanches. 

"Yeah," Carl tells him. "Exactly. Now get up. We need to eat, prep spells, and _find something appropriate to wear_. You are not meeting the local queen of faerie in jeans and a band t-shirt."

Tom snorts. "Oh, come on, that was one time, and it was with the Crossingsmaster! It's not like he's going to know what Earth formalwear is like anyway."

Carl levels a glare at his roommate. "I knew." He tosses Tom yesterday's shirt from where it sits on the back of Tom's chair, and a pair of jeans on the floor beside Tom's bed that Carl is reasonably certain are clean enough to pass muster in the mealhall. Tom opens his mouth to say something when Carl cuts him off. "Appropriate clothes _later_ , food now. Or do you want to go to the dining hall in your boxers?"

"I know at least one person who'd love it if I did," Tom retorts, and it's a bit of a gut shot until Carl realises (sometime around when Tom's slipping on his pants) that Tom's _not talking about him_. "Hey, c'mon," Tom continues, slipping his sock-less feet into his runners, "you're the one who was in a rush. Let's go."

"Yeah, yeah," Carl agrees, strapping on his sandals and following Tom out the door.

* * *

The Ivy Door, Carl's Manual tells him, is exactly what it sounded like: or, more precisely, it is:

> accessible through a patch of ivy on the north end of Masters Hall, Blackstock College. While the door may be opened with the appropriate spells1, it is recommended that one attempt entrance through the Ivy Door only at invitation, in which case an opening will be provided by the acting agent of the Queen's will.

Carl glances down to the bottom of the page; he is curious, regardless of its irrelevance, what the appropriate spells would be.

>   
> 1Please see Chapter 7 [Entrance and Egress], Section 3 [Cross-Dimensional Doorways], Sub-Section A [Accessing Intraversal Sub-Dimensions] for the list of applicable spells, with the following caveats: 1) due to an incompatibility with the local substrings, Carmichael's Artificial Access may not be used; 2) the subset of spells listed in 7.3.A Table 3 may only be used with traditional components, rather than their modern equivalents, in accordance with the 1983 Treaty of Endings. 2.6.C Table 4 lists the relevant components with their traditional equivalents.

"Tom, do you know about about the Treaty of Endings?" he asks idly, flipping through to his Manual's index to see if he could find a reference. "It's mentioned in my Manual, but I can't find any explanation."

Tom shrugs, pulling his own Manual out of his pocket and flipping it open. "Just a footnote reference in chapter thirteen. You?"

"Chapter nine in mine, but yeah, same thing." Carl closes his Manual and tucks it away before straightening his shirt. "I really, really hope we don't screw this up," he admits. "Time check?"

"Three minutes," Tom answers, checking his watch. "If the Amadaun's on time."

Carl nods before reaching into his pocket to check for the small wrapped box he'd placed there before leaving their room. One doesn't meet the Queen of Faerie (local or otherwise) without some variety of gift, not when one has been warned. Invited.

Same thing, really, when you're dealing with Faerie.

Carl pushes his hair back out of his eyes. "Time for a haircut?" Tom says, smirking a little. "You're letting it get long again."

"I like it long. It just gets in the way at this length." Shrugging, Carl adds, "It'll be fine in a few weeks."

Tom raises an eyebrow, 'If you say so' as clear as if he'd said it aloud, but otherwise his only response is to lean back against the wall and close his eyes. Carl settles himself against the wall as well, sitting down to wait beside his roommate. Two minutes later, the ivy rustles and a slight breeze -- warmer than the October air they're standing in -- blows across them. "Do we cross through?" Carl asks; not bothering to answer, Tom takes three long strides and passes through the ivy, leaving Carl to scramble behind.

On the other side, the air is cleaner, warmer, brighter; they're closer to Timeheart on this side of the door, although Faerie isn't strictly, itself, a separate world. "Somewhere between that and a pocket universe," Carl had explained to Tom earlier, as he looked it up in the Manual. "Some of the Faerie realms are just worlds closer to Timeheart, but the local one's budded off our universe." It's easy to tell the difference, too, Carl realises; he's been closer to Timeheart a few times on errantry, crossing between worlds on one task or another. His Ordeal, especially, had him travelling close down to World's End. The local Faerie realm certainly has echoes of those older, truer worlds, but it's more like a memory than it is the actuality of proximity to Timeheart. He lets it settle over him for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then turns to the man standing off to the side.

" _Dai stihó_ , Cousin," Tom greets him. "I take it you're the Amadaun?"

The man smirks and nods. "Aye, indeed. And you'll be Tom of the Marshes, and this the Roman Carl. _Dai_." It takes a moment for Carl to process, _Oh, right, a swale is a low marsh thing,_ and he doesn't have any time to question the 'Roman' bit before the Amadaun continues, "If you'll both follow me? The Queen has had her pavilion placed just over this rise; she is fond of the view across the lake."

Tom opens his mouth to say something in reply, but Carl, as subtly as he can, pinches him, the only signal he can think of to shut him up. "Thank you," Carl says, hoping the Amadaun didn't notice anything. "We are grateful for the invitation, and look forward to proving our worth as stewards of the land."

The Amadaun merely smiles and waves them along behind him. It's a short walk along, and then over, the rise, and the warmth, the breeze, and the golden light make it a pleasant walk. The pavilion is in sight as soon as they cross over, just a few minutes walk down the hill. Carl's pretty sure he can hear music coming up from it, something soft and lilting, maybe some kind of bowed string instrument. "May I ask," he says, catching the Amadaun's attention, "what it was that brought us to the Queen's attention? Which act, I mean."

The Amadaun laughs and shakes his head. "You may ask, surely, Cousin, and fear no retribution for it, but I have no answer for you -- the Queen has not deigned to say. Here! I grant you welcome," he adds, as they approach the pavilion, "that you may enter into the presence of Tanaquil, Her Majesty Queen of Faerie." He holds aside a gauzy curtain for Tom and Carl to pass under. Inside the pavilion, the light is softened, but not much dimmer than outside; the diffused light coming through the fabric of the pavilion is supplemented by Tanaquil's throne, glowing faintly but noticeably.

"Welcome, young wizardlings," Tanaquil says, stepping up from her throne and walking over to them, "and thank you for accepting my invitation. Come, come, let us sit." Carl shoots a surprised look at Tom behind her back as she turns to lead them to a collection of cushions around a low table. Tanaquil is nothing at all like what either of them expected: most Faerie queens are cut from the 'imperious' mould, in one manner or another, but Tanaquil is rather younger, at least in appearance and attitude, and is almost... bubbly. "I do hope it wasn't too much of an inconvenience coming on such short notice." She plops -- Carl can't think of a better word to describe it -- down on one of the cushions and waves for them to join her. "Please, please, sit down. There are refreshments, if you'd like anything? Tea, cakes, perhaps a light meal?"

Carl nods subtly at Tom. There are enough faerie realms where it's dangerous to eat the local food and enough warning tales about it, but this particular realm is safe, in that regard. "Tea will be fine," Carl assures Tanaquil, and her face lights up.

"Then tea it shall be! Come, Buttercup, Peaseblossom, tea, and a few of those cakes from luncheon, if there are any left." Leaning in and lowering her voice, Tanaquil tells the boys, "The cakes are filled with _raspberry_."

Tom grins and leans in as well. "I _love_ raspberry," he tells her, and oh, Carl could love him for the joyful laughter he incites in Tanaquil. Maybe this will all work out after all, Carl thinks.

Two young faerie girls bring in platters, one with a gorgeous silver tea service that Carl's grandmother would _kill_ (or, well, wizard -- perhaps mildly maim?) to possess and the other layered high with small, cocoa-dusted cakes. "Thank you," Carl says, accepting a teacup from the one girl. "Uh, just sugar, thanks. Or honey, if you have it." Tom takes a cup as well, undoctored, and Tanaquil dismisses the girls.

For a moment, silence, a little awkward, sits between them, until the Amadaun, half-forgotten in the shadows at one of the pavilion, nods. "If I may, my queen, I would check on the status of supper? I believe I may trust your safety with two wizards, human though they may be."

Tanaquil laughs and waves him away. "Of course, of course. And see if they can make blackberry cakes this time!" The Amadaun nods again and slips out of the pavilion, the curtains in the doorway barely shifting as he passes. Tanaquil watches the two wizards over her tea for a long moment before taking a sip. "You're both so _young_ ," she exclaims, finally. "I did know, I suppose, but we've stopped interacting with Blackstock in quite so overt a manner since I took the throne. Now, I know that I asked you down here to assess your suitability, but you wouldn't be here if the Powers hadn't willed it, and I would not dream of arguing their will. Mostly I wished to meet the wizards presently working in the world above. You are both students at the university, then?"

Carl nods. "I'm studying history and economics," he explains, "and Tom's majoring in Classics."

"I'm a writer, too," Tom adds, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an envelope, stuffed full. "In fact, I brought you this: the first draft of my novel, in hopes that you find amusement in it."

Carl's eyes, wide with surprise, turn to Tom. "You haven't shown _anyone_ that yet."

Tom grins at Carl and shrugs. "Which is why," Tom insists, "it makes such a good gift for the queen of Faerie. Her eyes will be the first upon it."

_I'm still not sure why I keep being surprised by you,_ Carl tells Tom silently, being careful to keep any emotional overflow under wraps. Tanaquil is squealing with excitement, tearing open the envelope and pulling out the butterfly-clip-bound manuscript. _By now you'd think I'd realise how much of everything you do is a cover._

Tom gives a silent snort, followed by, _Don't tell anyone. It would_ destroy _my reputation._

"I have a gift for you as well," Carl offers, pulling the small box out of his pocket and holding it out for Tanaquil. "This is... I found this while I was on my Ordeal." He flushes slightly. "Down closer to Timeheart. I've never found a use for it, but I thought you might like it."

Tanaquil stills, her hands poised to tear the paper off the box. It's Tom's turn to look at Carl in surprise. "What-" Tom starts to ask, but Tanaquil is carefully pulling the paper from the box and opening the lid. Soft blue light bathes her face, emanating from a small stone set flush into a slender silver ring.

"Is this-" Tanaquil begins, her breath catching as she slips the ring onto her finger. "This _cannot_ be one of the rings."

"No, no!" Carl insists, shaking his head. "No, it's just -- a little shard of power, from a little closer in. I think. It's just pretty."

Tanaquil leaps around the table to enfold Carl in her arms, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "But it's a mark of your Ordeal. That means something, truly." Pulling away, she continues, "Thank you. Both of you. To give pieces of your heart like this... If you ever need our help, the forces of Faerie are at your disposal. May such a time never come, but if it does, we shall stand ready." Leaning back in, she whispers her name in Carl's ear; it registers in his memory then instantly fades, but he knows, if he ever needs it, it will be there for him to use.

"Well," Tom says lazily, laughing across the table. "This has been an eventful afternoon and it's barely two. Whatever shall we do to surpass it?"

Later, in the Manual's precis of the meeting, there is a section at the end:

> After the meeting, as a gesture of good will, wizards Swale and Romero joined Queen Tanaquil in a game of **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** , during which **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION**. **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** also **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** , but while **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** has been reviewed at the request of Senior Wizard Antonia Callahan, **REDACTED: INSUFFICIENT AUTHORISATION** considers the event to be 'rapport building' between wizards and the local Faerie Queen, and so neither wizard Swale nor wizard Romero has been reprimanded.

In years to come, certain wizards of a similar age may come across the precis in their own Manuals. (One may even ask her father if they're related to any Antonias; "Uh, I think I may have a distant cousin," he'll answer, and she files that information away for later consideration.) They may even ask their own seniors why a game requires authorisation to read about.

One of the seniors may, upon being asked, blush furiously, a look which neither younger wizard is accustomed to seeing. Neither senior will offer an explanation beyond, "You had to be there."

* * *

### +1. In Which A Young Wizard Learns A Little Something (And Tom and Carl Reminisce)

Nita watches her seniors as they refuse to look at each other. "So, uh, the parts of this I actually am allowed to read -- your names aren't linked. You weren't partners back then?"

"Man, if I had known I was going to be stuck with this guy for _this_ long, I would have taken away his right to control the volume on anything from the beginning," Carl says, and Tom sticks his tongue out. Carl rolls his eyes, and pointedly looks Nita in the eye. "No, we weren't partners. Just roommates who both happened to be wizards. We weren't partners, really, until...." he trails off and tips his head. "Well. It's complicated."

"Seriously, you're giving me a Facebook status?" Nita demands, and both of the men cackle.

"It was complicated long before Facebook was even a thing," Tom points out, once he can talk again. A stray chuckle still sneaks out, though. "Besides, how would you describe _your_ relationship with a certain Mr. Rodriguez? I'm sure it's simple, right?"

Nita shakes her head. "No, it's... Okay, I see what you mean. But if most relationships are complicated, isn't it kind of a cop-out to say that?"

Tom opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, sending Carl into another fit of cackling. "She has you there, Tom. Why don't _you_ tell her how we actually started working together?"

"No, no, I think you should."

"But it was all your idea!"

"Yes, but you were supposed to say no."

Carl laughs. "Keep that in mind, Nita. The only reason Tom and I even together -- as wizards and as partners both -- is because Tom here expected me to say no."

Hesitantly, Nita asks, "...To what?" Carl opens his mouth to answer; Tom shuts him up the only effective way he knows. "Uh. I'll leave you guys to that, then." Nita backs out of the room, holding her manual up in front of her eyes.

She can take a lot of things from Tom and Carl, but do they have to kiss like _that_ right in front of her? It's worse than the time she walked in on them coming out of the shower together.

… But that's another story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Crazy Swale](https://archiveofourown.org/works/627350) by [Elizabeth Perry (watersword)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watersword/pseuds/Elizabeth%20Perry)




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